Where are You?
Where did you go? Why did you disappear? You have no idea how powerless I feel when I try to do things on my own. You used to be there, always dreaming alongside. Now that place is empty. I can still think. I can still
The Burrowers
What world? We have a world of our own, It isn’t as bright, It is devoid of light, But we can see, Unlike you. Isn’t that the dream? We feed on what you leave, We live on what you love, We leave nothing like you
21 Ways of Being Happy Book Review – Shama Patel
Loved the conversational tone of the book. The author writes quite lucidly. She knows what she is talking about, and most of the things pop out right from her personal experience baggage. Her stories make the book fun to read. Also, they relate to us
Boundaries and Walls
People seek ‘their’ people in people When they get lost in an uncaring lot. They wear symbols to stand out, Carry clothes that talk loud of a place Demarked on a patch of land called home. They smile, when they do, at their reflections, And
Insane Eyes
Eyes of glory, Eyes with a story, You hold my gaze with reflections of a star; I think they are diamonds you wear for eyes. If you hadn’t turned around for a furtive glance, I might have failed to notice your eyes looking into mine,
The Alternate Universe
Books are parallel dimensions, interwoven shades of reality hammered by our heads. It is a twitch in our brain that spurts out at contemplative junctures to say those right words that often end up being unsaid. They are also acts that never happened, the what
Children of Pain
I know it is hard to get, But those little soft fingers You have rolled up in your palms Are anything but innocent; They have scraped against someone’s insides; You have come from a place of pain. They have suffered in silence When you were eating
Deadlines in My Head
Every second I am out of it. I feel like I am running out of time. That cliched image of me clinching sand as it slides past my palm paints the canvas in my head. I have created these little deadlines unknowingly, and I have
The Road
I am walking.I think I am;The road walks the other way.A tiny kiosk sells death in all sizesWhile people flock in huge numbers to die;They ask for their favorite cigarette flavors.A girl preens her hair trying to findWhat she doesn’t look like in a vehicle’s
Clock Punchers of IT
They would rise in unison, walk around like ghosts and would fall into their chairs as if controlled by a remote. Their big hopeless eyes would stoop with them in their dullness. Their bleak lashes would then flap occasionally to reveal more dead inside –